a christmas dinner
Paul’s door leads, as ever, to the houseboat. (A much improved houseboat in terms of cleanliness, we might add.) It opens out onto the living room, which is no longer a refugee camp for loose papers, but actually a living room. The coffee table at the center has a couple of rolls of wrapping paper on one side, and a few books on the other. The ashtrays and glasses that used to litter the surface are nowhere in sight.
There’s also a lamp on, which Paul neatly steps around as he makes his way across the room.
“So, um. It’s about a ten-minute drive from here,” he says, drawing a set of keys from his jacket pocket, and grabbing an umbrella from a stand by the front door (better safe than sorry – the rain’s been a bit on and off throughout the day).
“And by ten, I am considering traffic. Which shouldn’t be too big of an inconvenience.”
There’s also a lamp on, which Paul neatly steps around as he makes his way across the room.
“So, um. It’s about a ten-minute drive from here,” he says, drawing a set of keys from his jacket pocket, and grabbing an umbrella from a stand by the front door (better safe than sorry – the rain’s been a bit on and off throughout the day).
“And by ten, I am considering traffic. Which shouldn’t be too big of an inconvenience.”
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"You'd keep warm through stubbornness alone."
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"Failsafe plan, that one. Have stubbornness, will survive."
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She goes to snag another forkful of pasta, and comes up with a disappointing clink when her fork hits the bottom of her bowl.
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And he pushes over his own pasta bowl.
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Mmm, pasta acquired.
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"My pleasure."
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"This is a really nice place; I'm glad you picked it."
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"Same," he says, chuckling a bit.
"Although the diner down the street is nice."
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Thank God the oxen haven't drowned."I like diners.
Maybe we could try there next time."
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"Sounds like a plan."